


Winging It

by LadyAna5



Category: due South
Genre: Challenge Response, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-02-03
Updated: 2003-02-03
Packaged: 2018-11-11 02:48:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11139618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyAna5/pseuds/LadyAna5
Summary: Ray Vecchio encounters an old enemy and endures much before he submits to save his own life.





	Winging It

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

  
Winging It

## Winging It

by LadyAna

Author's website: http://ladyana5.tripod.com

Disclaimer: Copyright to Alliance.

Author's Notes: beware of one's perceived reality

Story Notes: Spoilers are like toxic land fills - they are everywhere! 

* * *

Pairing: Fraser/Vecchio   
Rating: PG   
Copyright to Alliance 

"Winging It"   
by LadyAna 

He was still. Not floating or passive or unconscious or, God forbid, asleep. In the past few days, he'd done what was demanded of him, having submitted to the demon holding him captive. He'd subjugated his pride and hope and health, in the belief it couldn't last like this or, the Angels help him, get any worse. But all his dreams and ambitions and expectations of getting out of this alive, without a trip to the emergency room, was fading fast. As small as that little punk was, as pathetic as the old enemy from his past could be, the Chicago cop hadn't considered even his smallest of foes could render him flat on his back and at his mercy once again. 

It was the most excruciating existence, to live moment by moment, in fear of what fate holds. The Italian endured this time, hoping, praying the pain would end. However, the agony was constant, unrelenting and, at this rate, would end in death. Subtle or severe, as his mad master would deem, the anguish came in waves. It was either an acidic tickle that drove him insane or a full-fledged round of bright, white-hot hurt that left him crying inwardly for peace. The devil's eyes are black. You know this when your soul will do anything for relief. 

Surveying his surroundings, his stomach tightened in fear. Despite what had transpired in the last few days, all the pain and mental agony and desperation as to when it would end -- it was now in the middle of the night and he realized his ordeal was just starting. The Italian hoped he'd escaped this particular torture, but the tightness in his lungs revealed his merciless master's plan. It was a bitch to have an old acquaintance that knew your weakness... 

He jerked upwards, to a half-sitting position, fully realizing the reason he couldn't breathe -- there was a hundred pound weight on his chest. He was in the dark, the intense pressure creating the stark sensation of being smothered alive. It was a unique suffering, an ingenious procedure that literally felt like the life was being sucked right out of you. Inhale, *inhale,* as deep as you can again and again, with no reward. It was the equivalent of having fifty rounds of thick rope wrapped around your torso and the tightening increased, the longer you waited to submit. As he struggled to suck in air, he was once again reminded -- there was little as frightening as being suffocated. He summoned his waning strength, called on his only pitiful, energetic reserve left...to make one, desperate attempt at relief...and have it prove to be futile. He collapsed back onto the mattress, tears pooling in his eyes for not the first time. 

He started the unfamiliar procedure of alleviating the deadly problem. It had been quite some time since he'd had to seek help for this condition, especially to this level. And the closest help was so far away... "Fradur..." he croaked. He coughed deeply, trying to clear his clogged airways. "Fradur!" 

It came out as a strangled groan. The Mountie would never hear him like this. The Detective looked at the end of the bed, seeing nothing. He panted, short, quick, pointless breaths, while gripping the covers. Ray swallowed thickly, struggling to form the necessary words that would literally save his life. He tried again, the sound was more of a whisper, a gentle disturbance in the otherwise peaceful night. 

"Dief..." :::cough, cough::: "Dief!" 

The cop felt it more than he heard it. But white ears popped up, ready for help. The half husky hi-bred looked around, his gaze fixating on the hunched, shrunken form of his master's lover. It takes several tries of practiced inhalations to accumulate the air needed for said task. "Go...get... ... him..." 

The half wolf jumps to his feet, quickly padding over to the bedroom door and noses it open, away from the front room of the apartment to two males share. It had been a late night at a stakeout for Italian, so once he came in, he slept on the couch, not waking the Constable once he came in. 

_Benny insisted I stay home with this bad cold, but I just couldn't, not with Davshulli making the big buy the other night._

The cop sneezed right then, another reminded of the insidious enemy that was ravaging his immune system at the moment. Yes, he had a serious cold, typical but serious, sinus condition. However, as much as he hated it, as much as he despised it, as much as he could not stand the symptoms such an infection provided, there was one, fatal condition he literally could not live with...and that was asthma. Such an occurrence was rare; it hardly ever graced Ray with it's painful presence. But it was nonetheless lethal than a bullet. 

But after an evening in freezing temperatures, and already being infected with the flu, the Detective was already pushing the limits. During a pursuit, he jumped into ice cold water to arrest said perp, who was the one in the first place to force the Italian into weather even Fraser refused to participate in. Hence, the menu for the awful strangulation taking place. As much as he wished for it, the Constable's delectable chicken soup would _not_ cure this sickness. 

It seemed like forever until Benny was finally by his side, whispering soft words of encouragement. The cop let the impotent, useless asthma inhaler fall from his hand, his fist now forming around the sleeve of the Mountie's longjohn's. 

"It's okay, Ray." he hears next to his ear. "The ambulance is on it's way." 

The seasoned Detective blushed with shame. His present malady was just allergies, a cold and a cough run amok - most likely aggravated by the pet dander in their apartment. How on Earth was he going to live this down? It wasn't a shootout or a fistfight or a car crash that landed him in the hospital. Yet, what was afflicting him was all the same deadly. Ray Vecchio held on tight to his lover, kept his breathing slow and even as best he could, while hearing the scream of the EMS in the distance. 

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End Winging It by LadyAna:

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